Dreams, books, are each a world.

How is it that you live, and what is it you do?

In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.

All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.

"What is good for a bootless bene?" With these dark words begins my tale; And their meaning is, Whence can comfort spring When prayer is of no avail?

With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.

Poetry is the outcome of emotions recollected in tranquility.